


Quatervois

by endlessnepenthe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chance Meetings, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Public Transportation, they're just dorks okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 07:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20206012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: Normally, Castiel would be driving to work. Today, he slouches on the frankly quite uncomfortable bus seat, takes a sip of bitter black coffee from his stainless steel travel mug, and sighs softly under his breath.Note to self: never leave the car keys somewhere Gabriel can find, next time he comes over.Everything’s good — read: terrible — and normal, until the man in the navy suit.





	Quatervois

It’s Monday. Already a bad start in anyone’s opinion, with Monday being the first day back to work after a relaxing weekend.

And Castiel’s on the bus. The bad day status plummets to a new low.

He doesn’t mean to insult public transit, or the people that choose to take it everyday. What infuriates Castiel is the fact that _ he owns a car. _ And yet here he is, expensive trouser clad ass parked on a disgusting — and likely crawling with whole colonies of bacteria from previous occupants — bus seat, instead of the sleek leather upholstery of his own car. The one single upside to this situation? Castiel’s seated in one corner at the very back of the bus, a place unofficially reserved for those who would be staying on the bus for much of its rather long route. From this vantage point, he has an unobstructed view of the whole bus, which allows him to silently watch each and every person that boards.

Normally, Castiel would be driving to work. Today, he slouches on the frankly quite uncomfortable bus seat, takes a sip of bitter black coffee from his stainless steel travel mug, and sighs softly under his breath. He misses his car: gleaming midnight exterior, meticulously kept so clean it could be used as a mirror under the right lighting; silvery bare aluminum alloy rims; personally customized dark leather seats with their thin accents of electric blue, lighting running through the night sky. The beautiful black Audi R8 — Castiel’s pride and joy, although he _ had _ been considering getting a new car for a while now but don’t let his current car hear that — is currently at an auto repair shop.

_ “Hey Cassie, I miiight have gotten into a liiittle accident.” _

_ “What happened this time? I swear, the costs to repair your car is enough to buy a whole new one.” _

_ “Uh, about that…” _

_ “What?” _

_ “...” _

_ “...No. _ My _ car?” _

_ “It-it’s not that bad, I promise!” _

_ “Huh. _ This _ is why you’re calling me on a Sunday evening? Gabriel, how many times have I told you _ not _ to touch my car?” _

_ “I’m sorry, I really am; it was an accident! Look, they said it’ll only take around 24 hours to fix. I’ll pay for all the repairs and pick it up after work on Monday for you — it’ll be good as new!” _

_ “...Okay, fine. But I’ll go pick it up myself, text me the address.” _

_ Note to self: never leave the car keys somewhere Gabriel can find, next time he comes over. _

The bus screeches to a sudden stop, sliding a ways past the designated area and startling Castiel from his thoughts. Not terribly interested in the passenger boarding the bus, he watches the clouds in the sky, vaguely amused by one that looked like a round cartoon dragon, complete with the tiny fluffy wings that would logically only carry the weight of a small songbird. Castiel does, however, spare the man a single curious cursory glance when he sits down on the opposite side of the bus, just one row in front of Castiel’s.

Clad in a perfectly pressed navy suit with a diagonally striped blue tie and carrying a briefcase, the stranger stands out just as much as Castiel — who is wearing a sharp black suit, paired with a solid blue tie and a worn briefcase of his own — does on the bus. As professionally dressed as stereotypical high-up-the-ladder (or quite possibly CEO) office men, Castiel and the stranger stick out like a sore thumb amongst all the casual and at best semi-formal outfits on the bus. Navy Suit sighs quietly, somehow looking more tired than Castiel felt, thumbs fluttering rapidly over the screen of his phone like deft hummingbirds as he sends a quick text. Castiel’s heart aches in solidarity — in painful understanding of this stranger’s exhaustion — but he’s not eager to be caught staring. He turns back to the window.

The next time Castiel brings himself to glance in his direction, Navy Suit is asleep. His head nods forward limply in a way that would definitely lead to a painful ache and he’s being one of _ those _ people, his briefcase occupying a whole seat next to him. Full of passengers that are on the bus for only part of the journey, the newest passenger doesn’t find a single seat in the front, forcing them to meander towards the back. She pauses in the aisle, eyes flickering nervously from the empty — well not empty, but a briefcase could easily be moved as opposed to if a person were seated there — seat next to Navy Suit and the one next to Castiel. He doesn’t need a single second to consider his options; Castiel immediately shifts over a seat, nodding down at the one he’d just vacated with a slight smile.

_ I’m just being polite, _ he tells himself.

_ You wanted to let pretty boy over there sleep. _

_ I don’t even know what he looks like! I can only see his back. _

_ Is that disappointment I hear? _ Belatedly, Castiel realizes that this gleeful voice sounded suspiciously like Gabriel.

_ Ugh shut up, you crashed my car. _

_ I told you, I’m sorry, _ it whines in return, childishly petulant.

Smiling brightly, the woman accepts the proffered seat. Castiel valiantly fights to keep his expression blank as her perfume washes over him, much too pungent to be on the right side of pleasant.

_ This is why I have a car. _

A handful of stops later, it’s finally the one where Castiel gets off. So relieved he could hug the driver, Castiel clutches his briefcase as the bus rolls to a halt. He’s startled enough to be momentarily frozen in place when Navy Suit violently jerks his head and takes off out the rear exit of the bus. Irrationally worried that the bus would leave before letting him off, Castiel hurries to the door, only pausing for a split second to grab the phone that sits forlornly next to the seat where Navy Suit had been sitting. Castiel prays the device belongs to the man, because it’ll be extremely awkward if it wasn’t; but no one else had been sitting at that miniature row of two seats, so Castiel was 99% — 98%? 90%? 95%? Whatever, it’s enough for him to try risking mortal embarrassment — sure it had to belong to Navy Suit.

The screen of the phone lights up with a text and Castiel glances down just as he shoves his forearm against the closing rear door of the bus. **Sammy }:|** _Don’t worry, you’ll ace the interview! Drinks on me toni—_ Castiel reads as pain runs like electricity under his skin, stumbling to the sidewalk and nearly tripping over his own feet. As the bus drives away with the grumble of a huge engine and a blast of heat, Castiel trots after the receding back that had become familiar to him over the course of one single bus ride.

“Hey,” he calls, surprising himself with how quickly the distance shortened under his feet, despite wearing shoes that were not meant for any sort of strenuous activity beyond a walk. “In the suit!”

The man doesn’t slow. _ I hate to see you go but love to watch you leave _ pops into Castiel’s mind — Navy Suit walked with the grace of someone perfectly comfortable in their own skin, each step sure and smooth, weight shifting as fluid as water from foot to foot. Castiel already considered this man _ art _ and he hasn’t even seen a face yet. Now, how to get his attention?

“Excuse me, hey! In the navy suit!”

This time, the man’s steps falter. Obviously in some sort of hurry, Navy Suit doesn’t stop his forward momentum but he does slow down, the length of his steps shrinking with his hesitation.

“Yes, you,” Castiel nearly laughs in relief. He didn’t want to run. But not because he’s lazy, mind you; but because his shoes aren’t meant for running and he still had a whole day ahead of him at work. “Wait, please!”

Navy Suit stops; Castiel hurries to close the distance between them. Geez, the man had long legs. Long _ bow _ legs, Castiel suddenly realizes, strong and delicately curved. And then Navy Suit turns around.

_ Green. _ With the warm morning sunshine slanting through, the colour is saturated into a pure hue that is so bright and deep, it looked manufactured. Neon green, brilliant and pristine, but more depth, perhaps a shade — just a hint? — darker. More… Emerald. _ Like those green apples, but not really— Candy apple green! That’s it. _ Navy Suit had _ candy apple green _ eyes. And his features, so graceful, so _ pretty. _ Castiel could stare forever at that sharp jawline, those high delicate cheekbones, are those _ freckles—_

“...Yes?”

“Hm? Yes, uhm… Your phone? You left it on the bus.”

“Oh! Crap, I can’t believe it,” Navy Suit groans, raising a hand toward his hair. At the last second, he seems to realize he shouldn’t be touching it and closes his fist around empty air, shaking it once before lowering it back to his side.

Castiel holds out the offending device as a peace offering, fingers curled protectively around its sides. Expression still stressed but genuinely relieved and thankful, Navy Suit reclaims his phone.

“Let’s go? We seem to be heading in the same direction,” Castiel suggests, and receives a pleased nod in agreement.

Walking at Castiel’s side, Navy Suit rubs the back of his neck. “Thank you, really. I don’t usually take the bus, but my car’s in for repairs.”

“What a coincidence, mine as well! What happened to yours?”

“My brother — Sam — got rear ended drivin’ my car. Not his fault.” He shrugs.

“Mine actually hit something. _ With my car. _ I can’t believe him.”

Navy Suit makes a sympathetic noise. “Yikes. Brothers are troublesome, amirite?”

“Absolutely. Speaking of — and I don’t mean to be rude or pry, but I couldn’t help noticing — your brother, he sent you a text message earlier about an interview…?”

“What, Sammy?” He prods at the screen of his phone, reading quickly through the same message preview Castiel had seen. Humming noncommittally, Navy Suit shrugs again. “Yeah. It’s a pretty well known place, so I dunno if I have a chance.” Glancing around with the attention of someone not well acquainted with the area, he raises a hand and points forward. “I think it’s there, actually.”

“I’m sure you will be fine,” Castiel reassured. Then he follows the finger, and sees— “Oh.”

“Oh? Is that a good oh or a bad oh?”

“I work there.”

_ “Oh.” _

“Is that a good oh or a bad oh,” Castiel deadpans.

Navy Suit huffs a short laugh — _hah! —_ the sound startled but genuine.

“There’s no need for you to worry. The head of human resources is always late, so you are definitely getting those points for being early. I can always vouch for you, if that gives you any comfort.”

“Oh.”

“Is that a good oh or a bad oh,” Castiel teases, amusement brightening his words.

“Good oh, for sure.” Navy Suit smiles for the first time, small and shy with a hint of straight white teeth.

For as long as he could remember, Castiel has been irritated with Gabriel’s unrelenting goal to be late _ every day. _ Today, he’s pleased.

Together, they enter through the automatic glass doors of the building.

“Please take a seat here.” Castiel gestures to a cluster of plush sofas around a glass coffee table in the massive lounge, the largest amongst all the smaller clusters of single seater armchairs around smaller coffee tables. “Someone will call for you when it’s time.”

Nodding, Navy Suit perches nervously on a sofa. His posture is rigid and tense, clearly on edge.

“I’m sure you will be fine,” Castiel repeats his own words with a gentle smile. He strides over to the front desk, steps purposeful; the secretary stands even before he reaches the desk, hands clasped elegantly at her stomach. “Hannah, please fetch him a beverage. Make sure it is how he prefers to have it. Some refreshments as well, maybe — wouldn’t hurt.” His voice echoes, carrying easily through the silent room.

“Yes, sir.” She bows, a move that’s effortless and controlled from practice.

“Don’t forget to have some, too. We all know how you get without your tea.”

“Thank you sir,” she giggles lightly, still standing but not bothering to bow this time.

Castiel twitches his fingers in a dainty wave as he leaves.

\---

A rapid trio of loud consecutive knocks forces Castiel from his razor sharp focus on the stack of paperwork in front of him.

“Come i—” The door flies open. “—No.”

Gabriel dramatically juts his lower lip out in a pout. “I haven’t even said anything yet, Cassie.”

“Whatever you want, the answer is no.”

“What if I don’t want anything,” Gabriel challenges, sullen.

Castiel takes a slow sip of his coffee and pointedly shifts his gaze to the folder that Gabriel’s trying — rather unsuccessfully — to hide behind his back.

“Okay, fine; you got me. But—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Castiel interrupts. He sets his coffee aside, picking up his pen to spin it around his fingers. “My answer won’t change.”

“One interview. Just one.”

Blatantly ignoring Gabriel, Castiel flips a page, absently twirling his pen.

“Just the one, promise. You have nothing else to do anyway! And we all know how _ boring _ paperwork is. Take a break, do an interview. Win win situation for both of us!”

Castiel hesitates.

Sensing Castiel’s resolve crumbling as he considers his options, Gabriel rambles on. “C’mon Cassie, _ please! _ I feel bad for making them wait, and I can’t possibly interview three different people at once — that’s definitely against the rules! Help a bro?”

“I had to take the bus this morning because of you, _ bro,” _ Castiel growls. And if it were any other day, he would shut Gabriel down so fast the devious manchild would get whiplash. But Castiel’s positive mood from meeting Navy Suit is still lingering around him like the memory of fresh homemade apple pie, sweet and tart and wonderful. So instead of telling Gabriel to lie in the bed he made for himself, Castiel heaves a deep long suffering sigh.

Gabriel instantly perks up, practically glowing in delight. He slaps the folder down on Castiel’s desk — right on top of the scattered paperwork — and retreats, saluting primly as he chirps a cheerful “Thanks Cassie!” At least he remembers to shut the door properly.

Rearranging all the papers on his desk into one neat pile, Castiel opens the folder. “Dean Winchester,” he muses. Castiel skims quickly through the frankly quite impressive resume, nodding to himself. This Dean Winchester seems to get around — he’s worked in many places for an average of a handful of months; Castiel’s willing to bed that Dean has worked all kinds of positions at even more places than his resume lists (there is an amount of tailoring you must do when you apply for a specific position, after all). And Dean’s certainly not lacking in the experience department; perhaps he enjoys collecting knowledge and experience, trying his hand at new things. That’s a good trait to have. He’ll ask about why Dean had been through so many jobs and positions, first.

Picking up the corded phone the company provided in each office, Castiel presses the number that is saved with the extension for the front desk, patiently waiting for the _ click _ that indicates the other side being picked up. “Okay, send him in, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Unwilling to sit idle for too long, Castiel returns to his paperwork. He’s tapping the end of his pen against his chin, lost in thought, when there’s a light knock — like the person wasn’t sure if they should be knocking but decided to do it once at the last minute just in case — before the door is opening.

Glancing up, Castiel sees a familiar navy clad figure stride in and turn to carefully shut the door behind him. “Oh.”

The man twists around with wide eyes, mouth dropping open when he sees Castiel behind the desk.

“Dean Winchester, I presume.”

“Yes, that’s me.” He ducks his head in a jerky nod. “Sir.”

“Please, sit.” Castiel gestures to the pair of armchairs facing his desk.

Navy Suit — _Dean —_ automatically goes to the left, gracefully folding himself down.

“Hello, Dean.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- Gabriel somehow manages to hit the Impala (he's just a little bit drunk)  
\- Sam is devastated because he's an extremely responsible driver and Dean is going to be pISSED that he got the Impala damaged (but Dean doesn't seem to care, shrugging as he mumbles to himself about what needs repairing; he's just happy Sam isn't hurt — John had been in a car accident before and Dean had spent a whole month repairing the car)  
\- Gabriel is late this particular morning because of one specific Winchester (now what could they be doing, I wonder)  
\- Castiel goes home after work to change out of his suit — he doesn't like it very much — and then goes to pick up his car (he's wearing his white dress shirt and blue tie with a black trench coat)  
\- "This your car? She's a beaut—" "Oh. Hello, Dean."


End file.
